Let Me Fall Let Me Climb
by M. Angelowe
Summary: Chapter 5 is FINALLY up! Please R&R. Begins right before the performance of Don Juan Triumphant
1. There's a moment when fear and dreams mu...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Le Fantome de L'Opera", nor from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera". They belong to their  
  
respective owners, and I am writing this out of my deep love and respect for the story which has captivated so many of us.  
  
*Smiles* That does not keep me from admiring the tragic masked one though.  
  
Also, the premise for the title of this phiction is taken from the song "Let Me Fall", from Cirque De Soleil. Some of you may recognize it from Josh Groban's self-  
  
titled CD. I obviously do not own that either.  
  
Author's note: This is set in Lloyd Webber's musical, directly before the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant".  
  
Chapter 1: There's a moment when fear and dreams must collide....  
  
Erik  
  
I watched from my hidden vantage point high above the stage, poised upon one of the shadowed catwalks, as firemen, my incompetent managers, and the Vicomte de Chagny stood, talking in hushed tones of the impending "trap" which the were setting to capture me. I could not keep from smiling at their foolishness. Trap me? In my own Opera House? I shook my head, still amazed at the audacity of it all. And yet... tonight I would be granting them their wish. I would place myself into that trap they had planned so cautiously and carefully, if only for one final chance to see her, and be near her once more before they killed me. For I no longer cared to live.  
  
I had been ready to die the night in Perros, when Christine had fled from me with her wretched young man. I could still see the scene in my mind, him advancing toward me defiantly, and her, rushing forward, dragging him away, fearful for him, and for her. She feared me. Yet I would never harm her, surely she had to know that by now. I had worshiped her for endless hours, never touching her, aside from taking her hand in my own trembling one to lead her safely through the darkness of the shadowed cellars.  
  
I could feel the tension in my throat again, that constricting pain that also had its fist clasped tightly around my heart. I turned my attention back to the stage, unwilling to allow myself to become weak again. I had lain for nearly a week in my home after that night at the graveyard, lain of the floor, and wished to simply die. Yet my faulty heart, which had made me drop to my knees on more than one occasion, gasping for breath, showed no signs of granting me sweet release. So I would have to find another way to terminate my existence. I had gone to my laboratory, filled a syringe with enough morphine to send me into the most spectacular oblivion imaginable... and then I had sat, staring with dumb horror at it. The prospect of that night at Perros being my final memory of her and her final memory of me was not how I wished for it to end. No... I would see her one final time. And then, only after that, would I allow myself to die.  
  
A marksman joined the assembly on the stage, another pawn in this deadly game they were set on playing with me. But it was hardly a fair game. They were more in number... yet I knew every inch, every crevice of this Opera House. I could disappear for days on end and they would never, ever find me. I could see the Vicomte de Chagny giving the marksman instructions of how I was to be disposed of.  
  
"Only if you have to - but shoot. To kill."  
  
I smiled grimly, laughing softly to myself, then let my voice ring out, filling the theater, using my skills as ventriloquist to throw my voice from one side of the empty theater to the other. The firemen ran back and forth, and it took quite an effort on my part not to burst into uncontrollable laughter at their astonished expressions. Finally, I threw my voice into Box Five, and the marksman, who had gone to the orchestra pit, aimed his gun and fired.  
  
The Vicomte flew into a rage, and I made my way off the catwalk back to one of my secret passages, smirking. I would truly miss playing games with people's minds.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * My apologies for the short first chapter. This is my first attempt at phan phiction. Please read and review. I very much enjoy receiving information from readers.  
  
Your shadowed servant, shattered-mask 


	2. Someone I am is waiting for courage...

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own any of the characters from "Le Fantome de L'Opera", nor from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera". They belong to their  
  
respective owners, and I am writing this out of my deep love and respect for the story which has captivated so many of us. Nor do I own the song "Let Me Fall", which is from Cirque De Soleil, and is on Josh Groban's self-titled CD.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Someone I am is waiting for courage....  
  
Christine  
  
I stared at my reflection in the mirror as my dresser fastened the final hooks of my gown. I was tired, so very tired, and I knew that Erik would have been frightfully angry with me for singing tonight, would have chastised me for threatening my voice with undo strain. But I had no choice in this. My life had become an opera, but the pages of the score were blank. Only as the scene played out before me did the notes begin to appear so I knew what I was to do. Everyone around me seemed to know what the pages of this score of my life were to be.  
  
The managers, Monsieur Moncharmin and Monsieur Richard said I was to become the Paris Opera's leading diva. However, something deep inside my heart to me that this was a promise that would not last. I had become employed as their leading lady only because of Erik's threats. After tonight, if all went according to plan, Erik would be captured, and there would be no reason to keep me on as the leading diva. The audiences did enjoy my singing, but because of my reputation, which was linked to Opera Ghost forever after that fateful night of the Masquerade Ball, I had been as of late been received with a cold reception at every performance. The turmoil of emotions which had overcome me since that night had shaken me, causing me to be less that perfect every time I sang. Raoul attributed my perplexity at the masquerade to be due to having seen my false angel after so long, six months, of thinking I was "safe" from him. Raoul had fussed over me after that night, tried to assure me that I would never again have to see "that monster" again -  
  
"My poor Little Lotte, I am sorry he had to return and frighten you... I know you thought you were safe, after so many months of having not been trouble by him..."  
  
I bit my tongue, knowing that until that night, Raoul had not even believed my words about Erik. He had thought me to still be the overly imaginative child he had known some years prior. It was only when Erik had appeared, dressed at the Red Death, that Raoul became a believer. Raoul also did not know that I had not gone six months without seeing Erik. How could I have ever told him? I had lied numerous times to Raoul, telling him I needed to stay late at the Opera for rehearsals, or that I was needed during the early morning to be fitted for my costume... all lies, all webs of deception I had spun so I could return to that darkness. Erik's darkness. He frightened me, terrified me more than ever, for he had become removed and cold ever since the night that the chandelier had fallen. I had questioned him about the incident, but his only answer had been, "When the balance of chandeliers or life are displaced by time or by lies, they fall." He had said it with such sadness in his eyes and such pain in his voice I had not dared to question him further. That had been the last time he had spoken to me with anything other than cold disdain.  
  
A knock at my door and M. Mercier's voice alerted me that it was time. My dresser smiled sympathetically, and left. Surely she thought I was mad... they all thought I was mad. When Raoul had proposed his "brilliant plan" to capture Erik, I had said no, much to the dismay of the managers, Carlotta, and most of all, to Raoul. He had taken me by the arm and chastised me, much to my surprise and dismay.  
  
"Christine, you can't possibly... this man, this creature has murdered someone, and God knows what else he may try to do... Christine, please, for our sake... for everyone... you must cooperate. Otherwise we may never be rid of him." Never be rid of him. Couldn't Raoul understand I didn't want to be rid of him? Not like he meant... he wanted Erik caught, even dead. And I?... I was afraid of him, but I never wished for things to come to this.  
  
As I walked to the stage, I wiped a tear away from my cheek. I could not let my emotions hinder my performance. If I was about to betray Erik, the least I could do was sing his opera well if he was to attend. I hoped would not come at all. But I knew better. This was his night... perhaps his last night. 


	3. The one I want…

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Le Fantome de L'Opera", nor from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera". They belong to their respective owners, and I am writing this out of my deep love and respect for the story which has captivated so many of us. Also, the premise for the title of this phiction is taken from the song "Let Me Fall", from Cirque De Soleil. Some of you may recognize it from Josh Groban's self-titled CD. I obviously do not own that either.  
  
Chapter 3: The one I want.  
  
Raoul  
  
As I seated myself in Box Three and waited for the performance to begin, my mind began to wander, as confused as muddled as the sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments. I was anxious, who would not be, in my position? The nightmare that kept Christine distant from me was about to end, as would the nightmare for the entire Opera House. I had heard enough about this "ghost", this demon who lurked in the Opera.. who had turned Christine from the innocent, laughing girl I had known into the cold, aloof woman I saw now. No longer did a faint rose grace her cheeks, for she did not blush, nor smile, or laugh.. she was like a creature of the night now, shying away from the light.. away from me. I could not bear to see my dearest friend, and the woman I had been in love with since I was a young boy fall into the darkness.  
  
The darkness was in her mind, and he, that monster, had created it for her. She lived on music, and I daresay little more than that, as she refused to dine out with her face, and indeed her entire body was thin, as though she intended to starve herself. I had seen the changes in her over the past months since this whole ordeal had begun, the way she had become agitated and listless, always glancing over her shoulder as though she expected to find someone. What distressed me most, is whenever she did this, she looked displeased that no one was there..  
  
I had known the man was dangerous from what Christine had told me on the roof of the Opera the night after Il Muto. However, it was only after the masked ball, when I witnessed for myself the way his mere presence had captivated Christine, and then again at Perros when he had attempted to lure her back to him, that I understood completely the tremendous harm he could cause to her. The way that she became entranced and saw nor heard anything but him caused me to feel the greatest of dread. In that state of ecstasy which he sent her into.. I doubted there was a thing he would not be able to make her do without question.. surely a man such as that could not have innocent intentions!  
  
The dimming of the lights and the overture brought me back from my back from my thoughts, and I settled into my chair, listening half-heartedly to the performance, and watching for any signs that the monster had come. Box Five was apparently still empty, as the officer I had stationed to watch it had made no movement or in any way indicated that the "ghost" was there.  
  
Christine's first entrance on the stage was met with a cold reception from the audience... doubtlessly, after the fiasco at the masked ball, everyone in Paris had heard that the Opera Ghost demanded that Christine Daae was his and she must sing for him and him alone. My heart went out to her, for she looked lost as she made her entrance. She had pleaded with myself and the managers to not make her perform this "Don Juan" of the "ghost's", but there had been no other way.. still, she looked pale, and I feared she might faint away on the stage.. when she suddenly glanced up toward my box. I smiled, hoping perhaps she could see me.. and then, she looked toward Box Five. I furrowed my brow - did she smile as she looked up toward his box? No, surely I had imagined it.. but I did not imagine the way her eyes lit up as she turned her gaze from Box Five, and toward the audience, nor did I image the utter spender of her voice as she began to sing.  
  
There seemed to be a hush over the audience at that first note which she sang, and even though I was not very knowledgeable in music, I knew it was perfect. The song was an aria, and aria of innocence and love, and as she sang it, I became suddenly aware of just how perfect the song seemed.. as thought it was written for her. Then, like a fool, I realized that it was written for her. How had that simple fact escaped me before? It was not until now, as she stood alone on the stage, looked every bit an angel with her dark curls falling over her shoulders and the soft rose-colour of her dress looked like an early morning sky in the lights that I realized it. I stiffened, the thought of the fiend being somewhere in this theater, watching her, chilled my blood. The managers must have noticed, for they were sitting in my box as well, and M. Firmin's hand upon my arm and his words of "calm.. we must remain calm" caused me to breathe, and I buried the anger inside of me. There was nothing I could do unless he showed himself. 


	4. The one I will become...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Le Fantome de L'Opera", nor from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera". They belong to their respective owners, and I am writing this out of my deep love and respect for the story which has captivated so many of us. Also, the premise for the title of this phiction is taken from the song "Let Me Fall", from Cirque De Soleil. Some of you may recognize it from Josh Groban's self-titled CD. I obviously do not own that either.  
  
Chapter 4: The one I will become....  
  
Erik  
  
She was breathtaking. Every note, every phrase, perfect. My heart rose and fell as her voice soared on wings of music... music I had written for her. Even in my despair, and even though that boy owned her heart, I still possessed her voice. I had positioned myself in a secret space I had made in the wall on the left side of the stage, and though I could not see Christine from there, I heard her... When her song ended, I heard the tremendous ovation from the auditorium, and knew just how triumphant she had been. There it was again, that tightening feeling inside my chest.. I closed my eyes against it, willing the weakness away that threatened me. I could not falter.. I had made my choice. I could not turn back from it.  
  
I cursed myself for writing my opera this long. I grimaced whenever the chorus sang, for even in her demoted position, Carlotta's shrill voice was a botch in the ointment I called my magnum opus. Nearly three hours I waited, and though it was cramped I stayed in my hidden place, until the moment I had been waiting for finally came. Don Juan, who was Signor Piangi, sang the lines I had been waiting to hear. At this moment in my opera, the Don was planning with his friend to lure the most beautiful servant girl in his entire estates to his bed. I smiled at the bitter irony of it. Don Juan took women like I wrote music - often, and with passion. Yet I, the composer of this opera had never once had a woman... and I never would. Doubtlessly, Don Juan would live on in stories though the centuries, and have many more women. Curse you fate, for giving me this face, and for also giving me a heart that was stolen by an angelic chorus girl...  
  
As Signor Pinagi took his leave from center stage and retired behind a set piece, waiting for the moment he was to next make his entrance and seduce my darling Christine in her role of Aminta, I slipped from my hiding place, and neatly garroted him with a swift movement. Oh yes, I killed him, and without a second though... I was about to sign my own death warrant, I thought grimly as dressed myself in Don Juan's black cloak, and pulled the hood over my head, why should I pay any heed to killing people now? Christine already considered me a monster... One more death would hardly matter... And I could not disappoint her opinion of me now by becoming soft! I was already nothing to her...  
  
The tightening in my chest threatened to stop my heart, and the moment I threw back the curtain of the set piece to reveal myself to Christine, and indeed the entire opera house, I nearly cried out, for the pain was unbearable. Almost... but I did not cry, for one glance at Christine, and the sorrow, rage, and passion that I had been driven to because of her overcame my fear. I had not been this close to her for a month, as she had stopped coming to me for her lessons. She looked very pale, and for a moment I wondered if she were ill... She turned her back to me, or rather, to the Don shyly, glancing over her shoulder coyly. It a movement scripted yet it consumed me with a sudden desire to reach out and capture her in my arms. All my feelings of weakness dissipated.  
  
As I stepped toward her, and unfurled my hand, I began the first note, and watched her react to it with her entire being.  
  
You have come here.  
  
I had known from the first moment I began to sing she would know me, and she did. I could see her through the thin fabric of the cloak I wore, and she started as if an electrical current had shocked her. She knew my voice. She whirled around to stare at me, and I could see her glance around herself, unsure of what to do. Lifting the prop chalice to her, she took it, and drank the non-existent liquid within, her eyes wide with horror. The moment I pulled the chalice away, she turned, and fled to the other side of the table, yet another set piece in this scene, confusion plainly etched on her face. I wondered for a moment if the managers or that boy had noticed that the scene unraveling onstage was not the scene that had been intended. By now, Aminta should have been quite intoxicated from the wine and the Don's words...  
  
I advanced toward her, wrapping her in the melody on the song. The song was about lust, passion, rage, and desire, and at that moment I sang it truer than I had ever sung it while hiding away in the cellars, writing my opera. I took Christine's hand in mine, and she gasped as I pulled her toward the bed that Don Juan intended on sharing with his heart's desire... No use resisting: abandon thought, and let the dream descend . . . She jerked away from me, as was scripted, but with a terror that was real. Ah yes, Christine, now you see the irony of my music.. I write of love and desire when you would think of me only as a monster and a beast.. what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
  
As I finished singing the Don's verse, I was shocked to see a change overcome her, and she turned to me suddenly, a curious glint in her eyes. What are you up to Christine, I wondered, and the mantel of fearlessness that had come over me in those first minutes slipped away. She had never approached me without timidity, and suddenly, now she was closing the distance between us.. I turned to the table, and seated myself, trying to follow the direction of the scene, even as confusion settled over me. When she began to sing, my God, I felt as if I would die. I suddenly realized what she intended to do, and I like a fool, had given her the means to deliver this sudden punishment on me.  
  
I had seduced her with my music and my voice, now it was her turn. I had written this music for her, and she was going to use it against me now. I was weakened before her voice. If you only knew, I thought bitterly, that your voice has always made me weak... but now, it burns! I was having a horrible time containing the passionate turmoil that threatened to make me reach out and capture her in my arms, steal her away, and never, ever let that boy have her... She seemed to draw out the notes and words, the lyrics that twisted painfully into me like a knife.. Bodies entwining.. No second thoughts... until we're one.. When she wrapped her arms around me, I could not keep the moan that escaped my lips from happening. Oh Christine, how wrong I was child, to think you so innocent and pure, for now you are driving me mad! 


	5. Will catch me

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Le Fantome de L'Opera", nor from Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera". They belong to their respective owners, and I am writing this out of my deep love and respect for the story which has captivated so many of us. Also, the premise for the title of this phiction is taken from the song "Let Me Fall", from Cirque De Soleil. Some of you may recognize it from Josh Groban's self-titled CD. I obviously do not own that either, etc, etc. In this chapter I also use some lyrics from Andrew Lloyd Webber's song "Past the Point of No Return".  
  
Still. I may not own Erik, but that doesn't mean I can't have him over for tea every so often.  
  
A/N: Sorry it has taken so long for this chapter to come. College began, and life was hectic - but now it's winter break! YAY!  
  
Chapter 5: Will catch me..  
  
Christine  
  
It was him.  
  
I knew it, in that instant he began to sing, for no other man's voice could set my very soul at the gates of heaven and hell with every exalting, terrifying note. Oh God, he was surely even madder than I have thought! Did he not know what would happen if he were found out? How can I ever describe the sensations that ran through me at the sound of that voice? The horror. the fear!  
  
My mind reeled confused by the thoughts and feelings that raced through me by turns. do not let them know Christine! A persistent voice cried in my head, don't let them know it is he! I mechanically followed the stage directions, taking the goblet and drinking from it. Don't let them know. why should I not let them know? Was I not terrified of Erik? Dear God, I was, more than I had ever been frightened by anyone in my life! When he took the chalice from my hand, I could not control myself any longer and I fled from him, like a startled deer. What did he want, why had he done this?  
  
And then he began to come toward me, and I could not resist him or his voice. only Erik could ever cause me to forget everything with no more than his words. and never before had he sung with such fierceness! It frightened and exhilarated me. even the way he had sung that night he had taken me to his home for the first time paled in comparison to the sheer power he sang with now. He took my hand, and began to draw me with him toward Don Juan's bedchamber.And then. then I was struck with sudden realization, as the song - our song unfolded. For it truly was our song. How could I have been so blind? So many rehearsals, so many hours pouring over the score, singing and re-singing these words. these phrases that were like knives stabbing me ruthlessly into shame. He had written it for me, for him. could there ever have been any doubt?  
  
The realization was like a slap, and I bolted away from him again, feeling my cheeks burning with shame. I was blind. I was foolish and I was blind.  
  
I turned toward him, and stared at his shrouded form and for the briefest moment I thought I saw the hand he held between us tremble. Erik was never uncertain, it could not have been. but I had seen it, those graceful fingers quiver with an uncertainty. an undeniably real fear. I stepped toward him and he retreated, and sat at the table. all scripted movements, and yet he moved with a faltering hesitance that marred his normally graceful movements.  
  
Oh Lord in heaven, I felt as if suddenly possessed and I began to sing as I had never sung before. You have brought me to that moment where words run dry. I went to him, drawn by that terrified and unspoken fear that radiated from his form hunched painful tense on the bench, as much as I was drawn to him by his voice. I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why . . . But I did not feel the hesitance I normally felt when in his presence. Always, he had been like a distant light, ever guiding me onward in darkness, but so far away. More ghost than man, more shadow than flesh. more unfeeling than real. my fear of him was in part due to that Erik never condescended to show any human emotion to me other than sorrow, rage, bitterness, and fury ever since that first night I went with him. so prideful. I never knew it at first.. He had always, always maintained an aloof, even cold façade between us since I had torn the mask from his face, a coldness that had only grown between us since the night disastrous opening night of Il Muto. His distant nature was even more of a mask than the one he wore. But the Erik sitting before me was different from the Erik I had come to fear. The Erik before me was as afraid of me as I was of him, and in the fear I saw a man - not a phantom, or an angel. he was as vulnerable as I had been and was.  
  
I crossed the stage and went to him, still singing.. Bodies entwining.. No second thoughts... I was certain I saw him flinch as I circled around behind the bench where he sat. past the point of no return. When I leaned forward, pressing my chest into his back, and wrapped my arms around him, I heard him give an uncharacteristic moan, and his rigid body jolted. until we're one.. Oh god, what had I done?. Certainly someone in the wings or the managers had to realize now that something was amiss! I tightened my grip on his shoulders, The sleeping bud burst into bloom. and there was momentary falter in my voice. A falter which he heard. and he seemed in that moment to regain some sense of power that he always had about him, for I could feel his shoulders squaring, he lifted his chin, and I could feel his quickened breaths slow suddenly.  
  
He his hands, following the direction of the scripted movements. I raised my hands, locking his trembling fingers with my own... Strange, how their coldness did not frighten me now. The final threshold.the bridge is crossed. He rose and pulled me by the hand once again, and I could feel his eyes locked with my own even thought the cloak and scarf covered him. I wanted to desperately to look into their depths and see if the fear I felt was mirrored there as well. The hand that held my own was firm as he led me, and his voice drew me also. have gladly followed anywhere then, if he had wished it, for I forgot everything then as I had done before that evening he took me with him to the house on the lake. so stand and watch it burn., we've passed the point. of no return.  
  
Then I did something quite foolish, which I now blame upon the state of dazed intoxication I was under. Giving into the mad desire to look into his eyes without obstruction I lifted my hands and swiftly flipped back the hood of the cloak. and for a fleeting moment I saw that fear that I had thought would there. But it was replaced almost immediately by a look of surprise and confusion. Confusion I shared, for when he turned away from me the spell between us was broken, and I turned away as well, in time to see the managers and Raoul coming toward us from the side of the stage. I made a gesture to them and looked to Raoul, who hesitated and then stopped, laying his hands on the Monsieur Moncharmin and Monsieur Richard's shoulders. the three of them standing there, waiting to close in and end the nightmare.  
  
Nightmare? Erik was not a nightmare. If there were a nightmare that I feared it was the darkness inside of myself.. not the nightmare that Raoul or the managers feared. the managers feared the nightmare of loosing their precious business and reputations. and Raoul feared loosing me. No. he feared loosing something for the first time in his life. he could not bear the thought! I could see it in his eyes as he watched me.It was as though he were looking through me and only seeing the goal of obtaining. winning. defeating the enemy to win the prize. No. There was no nightmare, only deceit and betrayal staining all of us with it's crimson mark on our souls.  
  
I turned back to Erik, and he turned as well, watching me warily. It was only a few moments that we studied one another, no longer a dividing line of student and maestro dividing us, for we were both novices in a game neither of us completely understood. Those moments felt like an eternity until he at last, a seeming resignation overcoming him, raised his hands once more toward me, and again began to sing. 


End file.
